Baby Scars and Chainsaw Men
by Rabid Ghosts
Summary: On a hot, dry summer trip to a concert, things go terribly wrong. Adrian and her car mates find themselves in the company of our favorite cannibals, the Hewitts, and there's something intriguing about the one with the chainsaw. Rated for attempted suicide, self harm, gore and language.
1. Chapter 1

Baby Scars and Chainsaw Men (V2)

1

Farther Away-Evanescence

"You can't _possibly_ have a good explanation to not go on this trip," Dad said, crossing his arms over his chest as Joseph packed up our suitcases. He flipped me off and someone in the van shrieked. A girl wearing a bikini top and big, round sunglasses stepped out of the car to go take a piss.

"Because I'm on my period," I blurted out and by the look on his face, he didn't care nor believe the lie. "Get in, Adrian," he commanded sharply and I did as I was told. Kit sneered at me.

"Freak," one of the three girls, a busty brunette in a crop top, muttered. Her long hair got caught in my bracelets when I climbed into the backseat and she started screaming hysterically; Bikini was trying frantically to untangle the long extensions.

"Why do you wears these?" Bikini asked as she yanked my bracelets hard, ripping them off, freeing Crop Top's hair. "Oh." Her tone was snarky, condescending. It pissed me off immediately. My skin was laced with fat, puckered scars that never healed or faded. "Hey—woah, what the fuck happened to your arms?" Kit's eyes met mine, confused and disgusted.

I shifted away from the attention and snatched up my bracelets, ignoring the prying eyes that stared, the voices seeming to care about my scars and me. "Nothing," I said quietly, "nothing."

We lapsed into silence but the gears in my brain were working over drive, grinding and crunching. I knew they were thinking I was a freak but my mind was too full of nonsense and phrases and I was trying to drown out their loud chatter with my rock music.

oOo

"Damn!" Kit slapped the steering wheel, frustration written all over his face as Joseph, Bikini's boyfriend, looked under the hood. We were parked in a rundown gas station's pump area; Meredith (Crop Top) and Liam, her on-and-off ex, were headed into the store to see about getting some help. There were three couples: Liam and Meredith, Lexis and Brittany, and Alex and Kit.

Me, on the other hand, had one boyfriend. That was my precarious stack of books. "I'm going with Meredith and Liam," I told Kit and scrambled out of the back seat, tripping when I landed on the ground. Clouds of dust puffed up from the ground and made me sneeze.

I hurried across the parking lot, heading for the door. When I pushed it open, the smell of cured meat hit me and I swayed, nearly crashing into a stand with sunglasses. I spotted Meredith's long hair and weaved through the aisles, looking around the shop.

The convenience store was light brightly, throwing everything into sharp high definition. There was an area off to the back near the restrooms with dingy little table; aisles of snack food lead to a counter with a bar and, in the display window, countless cold cuts.

A plump, older woman manned the counter, wisps of pale-grey hair escaping her long, curly braid. "Could you, like, help us?" Liam asked, his tone rude. I stepped up behind them, smiling shyly at the old woman; her sharp eyes narrowed at the couple in front of me, from behind bright red cat-eye glasses.

"With what?" she asked, shifting in her seat. Sweat stains flashed when she brushed back her hair. "Our car broke down, ma'am," I explained in the politest voice I had, causing Liam to jump and spin around to face me, "and we can't figure out what's wrong. Do you, maybe, have a mechanic here? If not, we'll be on our way."

She smiled at me, showing coffee-stained teeth. "And there's a girl who has manners _and _pose," she laughed. Meredith scowled at me. "No, ma'am," I said modestly, feeling my face get hot when she swept out from behind the desk. "My brother, the sheriff here," she told me, patting my cheek with a gnarled hand, "might be able to help ya. Do you have a place to stay?"

"We're actually on our way to a fest, down in Austin," snapped Liam, sneer rising on his lips as he ogled me and sent the hairs on my skin prickling, "so if you could, call him and have him take a look."

"My name's Adrian," I told the woman, smiling when she glared at the couple. "Luda Mae Hewitt. You're such a sweet li'l thing, aren't ya?" I felt my face flush. "You can stay at my house. He lives there with me, my son, Thomas, and my other brother, Monty." Luda Mae was smiling as we walked back out.

"Mind if I join you? I'll give you directions," she said with a smile at Kit, who'd taken off his red muscle tee and was fanning himself with his hat. "Sure, whatever," he replied. Her smile faltered but I squeezed her hand and whispered in her ear, "They're all a bit rude."

Lexis and Brittany whined about being hot as I helped Luda Mae into the back; Lexis, who didn't seem so sorry when she laughed an apology, elbowed me in the nose. Nose throbbing, I pulled the seat back into place for Liam and Meredith, who climbed in without so much as a "Thank you, Adrian", not that I was really expecting one from these kids.

"Are all these books yours?" Luda Mae asked, eyes wide. I went red as I muttered an apology and picked them up. "And you play?" She eyed my guitar case. I nodded. "I'm sorry about this mess, Miss Hewitt. I've been sitting back here with no one else and I-I guess I kind of took over with all my things," I mumbled, face burning.

She patted my hand, pale against my olive skin tone. "It's surprising, to see a girl such as yourself in such terrible company," Luda Mae said, gesturing with her head to the occupants jamming out Robert Thicke's _Blurred Lines. _"Yeah. My parents made me go. The guy driving is the son of a family friend and he basically forced me to come along," I answered.

She just smiled and turned to the front of the car, leaning between Lexis and Liam's heads, to shout directions.

I kicked off my sneakers and slid my books into my backpack lying on the floor; keeping the one I was currently reading in my lap. I opened it up and began to read, losing myself in the electric love story of a mysterious girl and clumsy boy.

oOo

"Adrian, we're here. Get your fugly ass up." I blinked hard against the phone light that flashed in my eyes. My vision was bleary; I blinked harder. It cleared. Liam's sour face loomed above mine and the stink of cigarettes and cheap booze reeked from his mouth. He was leering at me.

"Let's go, sugar pop," he snapped and reached in. I wanted so badly to panic, to kick my legs out, to slap his strong hands away from me but I was still half-asleep so I let him haul me out of the car and shove me into the grass surrounding the old plantation house.

"That's no way to treat a lady!" Luda Mae abolished him when she hobbled around the corner. He sneered at her and kicked the gravel. The spray hit me in the mouth and eyes and I sputtered, spitting out gritty dust and wiping at my watering eyes.

"I-I'm fine," I argued as I got to my feet and pushed back my messy hair. I hardly bothered with brushing it anymore; I had no one to impress anyway. "These boys have _no _manners!" she cried as she patted my arm sympathetically. I froze when I realized that my bracelets were gone and I turned to Liam, who was holding them by the fistful, a sneaky grin on his face. "L-Liam, g-give me back my bra-acelets, please," I begged, horror filling my chest as Luda Mae inspected my arms.

I shied away from her, holding my arms away and close to me. "What's wrong with your arms, hun?" asked Luda Mae, "I see nothing." "She's all scarred up like a freak!" Brittany shrieked with a loud, braying laugh.

"Give her back the damn bracelets, boy!" yelled a voice.

I spun around to find a scarecrow-thin man wearing a wrinkled sheriff's uniform stalking down from the porch steps; he was sweating fiercely and his face gleaming with it. He had this gritty, grimy feel about him but Liam scoffed and tossed the bracelets down at my feet.

I dropped down and hurriedly tugged them on; Liam was laughing as he shouldered passed the sheriff.

"You little shits. You'll get yours," the man hissed as he greeted Luda Mae with, "Hey, Mama," and then he turned to me. His eyes were hidden in the folded wrinkles of his face but I could feel the heat as he surveyed me. "I think I might have to adopt her," Luda Mae laughed.

"I'm Adrian, sir." I nodded respectfully as I brushed away the dirt, careful not to accidentally grind it into my scars. "Sheriff Hoyt, at your service. Now, what's this about a car?"

As I explained our situation with the car, I heard a burst of laughter. A dog howled. And then _he _came out of the house, a hulking man wielding a chainsaw. He stopped at the top step on the wraparound porch, his head swung back and forth like he was picking up a scent and then his body twisted in our direction.

I could feel the heat of his stare all the way from here and then it was gone, and he was gone, walking around to the back of the house.

The roar of the chainsaw drowned out the teenagers' loud, drunken laughter.


	2. Chapter 2

Baby Scars and Chainsaw Men

2

Decode-Paramore

Inside the house was stuffy and humid; I felt weighed down. "It's too hot!" whined Lexis, stomping her foot. I nearly lost my foot to her designer high heel. "I'm terribly sorry," Luda Mae apologized as she ushered us upstairs and gave everyone a room.

"The AC's broken and Hoyt's been trying to fix it but it seems that it needs to be replaced," she explained, patting at her forehead. "Oh, here, last down, right next to Tommy's room," she said when I went to head into the room next to Brittany and Lexis. Meredith attempted to trip me.

"Oops," she sang in a sugary voice that made me want to claw off my ears, "_sorry_." I bit my lip hard enough to taste blood and smiled at her. "No problem," I said pleasantly, gripping the handle of my suitcase tighter. The leather bit into my skin.

The room Luda Mae gave me was nice, in an antique sort of way. The room looked like it belonged to a bibliophile, which suited me quite fine. Off to the right side sat a bathroom, a dresser and a closet; across from it sat an old bed and lining the walls were books. Old, new, antique, weathered, mint-condition.

I sighed. "Thank you, Luda Mae," I said and spun around and hugged her hard; she patted my back softly. "Wash up now, sugar," she told me, patting my cheek with a smile, "We'll be having supper shortly."

I unpacked my clothes and feminine care items and transferred everything into either the dresser or the bathroom, in the barren cabinets. Tucking my suitcase under the bed, I decided to shower and closed my door; I set my phone on the dresser outside the bathroom and stripped.

I ran my fingers through my oily, dyed hair and decided I'd wash it as well. Humming, I stepped under the spray of lukewarm water and scrubbed myself free of all the grime from flying down the road at ninety miles per hour with the windows down in Texas.

I thought I heard the door open but I figured it was just the house making noises; old houses make lots of noises. I screamed when I felt the curtain rip open and a hulk of a man glowered down at me with dark, dark blue eyes.

The water beat against my face and I sputtered, trying to keep myself covered. "E-E-Excuse me," I managed to get out as he surveyed me. Nodding, he replaced the curtain and his heavy footfalls faded into the room next to me.

_That's Tommy, _I realized as I dried and dressed, squeezing water from my hair. I peeked out of the room and glanced up and down the hallway; not a soul in sight. I decided to head downstairs, to see if Luda Mae needed help or to ask Hoyt about the guy who barged in on me.

The door next to me opened and the guy from before stepped out, a hulking mass. His lank curls fell around his face as I realized he was staring at me. I stammered an apology.

He was dark with grime and dirty but his hair was shone with oil; he wore a stained shirt and frayed pants and heavy, chunky work boots that made me tense up with his every step. Let's throw in the fact that he was well over six foot, wore a mask over his face, and was currently trying to glare me into hell.

"I-I-I—"

"Tommy! Adrian! There you are. Adrian, Tommy. Tommy, Adrian. She and her…companions…will be staying with us for a few days until they can fix their car," Luda Mae explained, wiping her hands on her apron. "L-L-Luda," I stammered and Tommy shifted, his hand reaching towards me.

I met his eyes.

His rough fingers gently brushed away a damp clump of hair from my cheek; I hadn't realized it'd stuck there. "T-Thank you," I murmured as his hand glided over the swell of my head and down my neck. He dropped his hand abruptly and walked away.

"H-H-He…He accidentally walked in on me…" I whispered to Luda Mae, "…While I was in the shower." She hummed, eyeballing Thomas. "I'll tell him he'll need to knock," she told me, patting my arm before she led me downstairs.

The kitchen was swirling with the smell of tender meat and spices and vegetables; a man in a wheelchair nearly ran over my foot. "I-I'm terribly sorry," I mumbled when he stopped, wheeled his chair around and stared up at me.

"I'm Adrian," I blurted. He smiled, showing off coffee-stained teeth. The little dog in his lap licked at my finger excitedly. "Monty. And this is Sara." The dog squirmed and wiggled, her tail thumping like crazy. "Can I hold her?" I asked.

He nodded and showed me how to pick her up; she squirmed in my arms but remained in them. She licked at my cheeks and my chin and nearly swiped her little pink tongue across my mouth. "She likes you," Hoyt said loudly as he walked in, fanning himself with his hat.

He eyeballed the furry animal in my arms, then me, and smiled. His teeth were tobacco-stained and crooked but his smile was genuine. "Want some help, old boy?" he asked in Monty's ear and they left.

The teens I was forced to ride with were whining about everything damn possible. "Holy shit, can it _get _any fucking hotter in this shit hole?" That was Alex, fanning herself and slipping her cold beer between her breasts.

"It's too hot!" That was Meredith as she hung on Liam's arm, her big hair in the way. I scowled. "Do you want some help?" I asked Luda Mae and I could see how moved she was by my offer but she declined. "I've just 'bout got everything ready," she murmured, swatting me playfully.

When I entered the dining area, I felt all eyes swivel towards me and gawk. "W-what?" I asked worriedly, looking down at myself. A lose t-shirt and tights. My wristbands were on, my hair loosely combed—I felt the heated presence of a man behind me. I glanced over my shoulder and yelped at his proximity.

Tommy gave no indication that he heard me, although he did grab my arm to keep me cracking my head on the counter. "S-Sorry," I said, "I-I didn't see you there." His intense eyes flitted to mine and I saw something flash across them before he turned and headed to the side of the table less populated.

I followed.

"So, freak," sneered Kit and I flinched, despite myself at the word. Tommy seemed nervous, fidgeting in his seat; he whined softly, a noise between a scream and a growl. "Don't say that," I snapped, sipping my beer.

It tasted disgusting so I handed it to Hoyt, who guzzled it down gladly and sipped some of Luda Mae's iced tea instead. I glanced at Tommy out of the corner of my eye.

"Dinner's ready!" Luda Mae called. I braced myself but, for what, I didn't have the slightest clue.


	3. Chapter 3

Baby Scars and Chainsaw Men

3

Valley of the Dolls-Marina and the Diamonds

Dinner was noisy. The girls whined about the "greasy meat" that made them feel "fat like Adrian." Of course, I pretended not to hear and bit into the meat. It wasn't greasy; just …gamey, kind of like wild meat or something, like birds, maybe? The guys were disgusting and held a belching match right in front of my face.

"Do you have _any _manners?" I snapped as my patience snapped. My temples pounded with a building headache and I rubbed circles into them hard with the pads of my thumbs. The smell of their foul breath was making me queasy and really wasn't helping my head.

"No," laughed Liam as he smacked his lips and burped in my face. I shoved him, tired and cranky and feeling over heated, and his face transformed into something hard, a rage filling his eyes that was unforgettable.

He grabbed my arm and twisted, hard; the pain skyrocketed through my entire forearm and tears sprang to my eyes. "Don't touch—" I began but he interrupted me, yanking me to my feet. My hip smashed into Tommy's chair and knocked the breath out of my lungs. "Why? Because you're such a freak?" Liam sneered. Lexis squealed with laughter.

Shame burned inside my belly. Kit snickered as Liam smirked. I swung my leg back and then, suddenly; I was out of Liam's reach, wrapped in strong, hard arms. The smell of earth and something metallic stung my nose as I glanced up and my face burned with embarrassment. I'd gotten everyone here involved.

"Tommy," Luda Mae said quietly, walking closer. He let out a growl, vibrating up from his stomach. Brittany giggled as Alex burst into fits of loud laughter but quickly shut up when Tommy turned his head towards her. "Thomas Jedidiah Hewitt," Monty rasped sharply and Tommy's hold loosened.

"I'm s-sorry," I blurted. Luda Mae looked at me questioningly. "I-I di-didn't mean t-to…" I mumbled, swallowing passed the hard lump in my throat. Tears filled my eyes. "I didn't…I'm s-sorry," I said lamely, lowering my head.

"Sweet pea, why on earth—" Luda Mae said softly but Alex interrupted her. "Because she ruined dinner for everyone," Alex sneered. I bit my lip until I tasted blood and counted.

_One. _

Tommy let me go but hovered behind me, close enough to restrain me again. He was a giant compared to me, a girl who was barely five-foot-five, and he could easily break my arms or something if he was too rough.

_Two. _

Luda Mae banged her stick when the bickering started but no one paid attention. Alex threw the first punch, right into my face. Blood gushed down my lips and I touched it, slowly, the pain registering.

_Three. _

I sat down and picked up a napkin and pressed it against my bleeding nose. _Bang, bang. _The gunshots exploded loud and the squabbling stopped; everyone stared at Hoyt in shock. I stared at my bloody fingers. "Is this how you treat your guests?" shrieked Meredith, stomping a foot. One of the guys yelped. "Is _this _how your parents raised you? To act like hooligans?" Monty asked from his wheelchair.

Lexis sneered. "Shut up, you amputee freak!" The room went silent. "Monty was a veteran," I said slowly, "so how dare you call him that? He served in wars before your whiny little butt was born!" She laughed shrilly.

"He watched his men _die _so you could be free! He lost his legs so you wouldn't be in slavery or screwing some old man you got sold to as a little girl!" I got to my feet and ignored the blood dripping from my swollen nose. She stopped laughing. "Well," she said stuffily, flipping her hair, "I—"

"No, just shut your damn mouth _right _now," I hissed. "All I hear is me, me, me; the world doesn't revolve around you all! No wonder your parents divorced—" I froze as she glowered at me and then crumpled, looking angry. "I-I di-didn't—" I stammered.

"No, I think you _did_," hissed Kit as Lexis and Brittany stood there in shock. Alex was sniffling. Liam's eyes blazed as Meredith stalked up to me. "And what about _you_?" she asked. I stopped. "What about—?"

"Your dad's a deadbeat, can't even take care of his kid. Your mom killed herself! Wanna know what I think?" Meredith hissed in my face. Something cold replaced my blood in my veins. "N-no—" "Too bad, you freak," she snapped and her fist smashed into my cheek. "I think she couldn't handle having a defective daughter."

I bit my tongue until I tasted blood. She turned and walked away, dragging Liam with her. He flipped me off. I flopped back into the chair and tears flooded my vision. "I'm sorry," I whispered brokenly. "I-I-I…M-may I b-be ex-excused?"

Luda Mae nodded and I ran.

oOo

Groggily, I woke up. I could hear laughter and squealing. My arms were killing me and I looked and I saw the fresh, red cuts. Bile rose. I swallowed it down half-heartedly as I rose and got dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, slapping on some band-aids. After noticing the cuts on my fingers, I wrapped them too and brushed back my hair into a braid.

Wisps of red hair tipped with black fell out of the braid but I ignored them and stared at my reflection. Pale skin, almost translucent, a splash of freckles across my nose, curious dark eyes, the scar from when I was jumped at 13, the dark eyebrows. I looked too much like Mom so I dyed my hair; Dad barely even batted an eyelash. I was paler than her so I looked kind of like a sick Goth all the time; I'd opted out of black because it would wash out my skin even more, making me look like a _dead _Goth.

I scrubbed my teeth until my gums bled and the frothy water washed out pink, swirling down the drain.

I couldn't stop thinking, seeing, my mother, lying lifeless in the tub, water tinted pink. Her lifeless eyes staring up at the ceiling as the last tear dripped down her temple. I remembered I screamed and screamed and screamed until Dad came running in and _he _started screaming to. He had shoved passed me and I fell as he collapsed and screamed and cried, pulling her from the tub, her gown transparent.

Her body was cold like ice when the paramedics arrived. I watched from the porch as the neighbors gathered around Dad and Logan, my mom's brother, came and sat by me. He pulled me into his lap and stroked my hair as I watched the ambulance zip my mother in her beautiful nightgown into a shiny black bag and cart her off the morgue.

Someone knocked on the door and I quickly answered it. It was Tommy, looking a bit out of place with his dirty clothes as he jerked his head towards the staircase.

He wanted to walk to me to breakfast.


	4. Chapter 4

Baby Scars and Chainsaw Men

Four

Hell To Your Doorstep-Count of Monte Cristo Musical

It was just Thomas and I at the table, us being up so early in the morning. I'd brought my sketchbook and decided to draw using my knees as an easel and just sketched. I sketched the kitchen counter and Luda Mae's back, her braid swinging, illuminated by sunlight. She looked angelic, kind of like a spiritual grandmother, the kind who interprets dreams and reads tealeaves on cool autumn days.

Charcoal stained my fingers as I finished the wisps escaping her braid. Thomas bumped my shoulder gently, his head bowed down. Curls fell over the side of his face, a curtain, and, without really thinking, I pushed it away gently. His head whipped to me.

His wide, frightened eyes stared at me like I was going to strike him and his hand shot up to catch my wrist in a bruising grip, making me tighten my mouth in a frown. "I-I'm so-sorry," I managed to choke out; embarrassment washing over me as I realized I'd touched him without permission.

**Adrian's Rules:**

**1\. ****Never touch.**

**2\. ****Never allow yourself to _be _****touched.**

I broke both those rules within the span of a minute and all because of this man. I looked up into his eyes and stared, more out of curiosity than fear.

His eyelashes were long, and thick, like a mascara model's; his eyes themselves were the color of molten dark Hershey's chocolates, with a milk chocolate around his pupils and the outer edges of his irises. He was staring at me too, his eyes darting everywhere, just looking.

Something fluttered inside of me as he let go of my wrist and reached down gently, like I was a figurine made of glass. Well, I guess, compared to him, I was. A chubby girl made of glass. I pressed the tip of my tongue against the back of my teeth as his palm brushed my skin in the lightest of movement, barely even touching me, like he was afraid he'd break me.

I pressed my cheek a bit firmer into his hand and something in his eyes lit up, like a child figuring out how to do a difficult problem after so many failures.

"Tommy?"

He blinked, one, twice at the sound of Luda Mae's voice, before he snatched his hand back and glowered at me, as though I was the one to blame for the moment. I looked away, staring down at the picture on the paper; it was Thomas, his face quarter-turned to me, a cascade of curls curling at his shoulders, just a bit too long. I stared and stared and stared; my hands started to tremble dangerously.

"Adrian?"

Luda Mae peered in as Thomas shifted, pointing at the picture and the stub of charcoal in my left hand. The black substance stained my sleeve and forearm and the side of my hand—wait. Forearm? It took me several seconds to realize my sleeve was pushed up and Thomas could see the band-aids. My cheeks burning, I yanked down my sleeve and zipped my lips; he reached out for me but quickly pulled his hand back as the thumps of teenagers waking and heading down brought the risk of persecution.

Lexis barely spared me a glance as Kit dropped into the seat at the head of the table. Liam shot me a dark look as Meredith chose the farthest seat away, Brittany across from her. Alex looked disheveled, her eyes bloodshot and hair a disarray; she looked frumpier than I'd ever seen her.

I was nothing more a speck of lint on their clothes; nothing I said ever _mattered _them. I was a tree in the backdrop of the fairytale; I was a girl whose face melded into the crowd.

"We've decided," Kit said, laying a hand on Alex's. Even in disarray, she managed to look slinky, dressed to kill in a crop top that left little to the imagination and shorts that looked more like panties. "To leave you here."

"You can't do that!" I cried out, scrabbling to my feet. Liam's eyes flashed and in one great leap, he was across the table and had a hand around my throat, crushing my windpipe. "We sure as hell can. Who do you think you are, you little prude?" he hissed and his spittle was like acid on my cheeks. His crazy, wild eyes looked at me like I was meat. "You always thought you were _so _better than us," he continued, ignoring Luda Mae, who was demanding he let me go. I met his eyes boldly.

Alex joined in suddenly.

"'_Oh, look at me, I'm so lonely and friendless. Boo hoo. I cut myself for attention._' What a bunch of shit."

Her eyes hardened into cold stones that lacked warmth; I glanced around the table. Lexis was adjusting her breasts in her t-shirt and Brittany was eyeballing her; Kit was glaring at me.

"Every time I wanted to go out," Kit said, "my dad always said, 'Hey, why don't you bring Adrian along? I'm sure she'd love to come.' Like I want some filthy half-breed reject in my new car, putting her fat ass all over it. Disgusting." He wrinkled his nose like he smelled something foul. Liam's hand tightened and tears prickled in my eyes but I _refused _to cry in front such horrible humans.

_The worst monsters are human, _I thought dryly as Liam got up in my face. "Remember when your mom killed herself?" The hand got tighter. Black spots sparkled in my eyes. I managed a nod. "You weren't even 17, but you didn't cry; you just stared at the casket while your dad bawled his eyes out. It's like you didn't care about her at all."

I remembered feeling cold, like someone had stuffed me in a bucket of ice. I remembered the heaviness that stayed over the years as I struggled with school and depression and cutting.

"You were a freak then. You never spoke to anyone; you just looked at him or her with your blank eyes and they'd leave you alone. You're a freak now, too. Nobody will _ever _want you."

The tears blurred his face as Alex began to laugh. Lexis snorted and started making pig noises. Kit brayed that stupid laugh. Liam's hand tightened until I couldn't breathe anymore and, by then, my arms were numb. Just like before.

I thought I heard screaming as my vision gave way and the rest of me followed.


	5. Chapter 5

Baby Scars and Chainsaw Men

Five

Broken Pieces-Apocalyptica

Someone was screaming. It reminded me of my parents, before the divorce, arguing over money, over me, over every little thing. The lights should be off/_no, I want them on/_turn the AC up/_then it'll be too cold/_you never think/_you're so damn stupid_/this is your fault/ _pick mommy/_ pick daddy/_go away_/come here/_who do you want to live with? _

My parents shared custody. I saw my mom every other weekend and stayed with my dad most of the time; it was lonely at mom's house; she was always at some party or bringing home men and I was left alone with her liquor cabinet; I became very well acquainted with Schnapps. While she had men warming her bed, I had tequila warming my throat.

At dad's, it was try to figure out how much you've missed in your ex-wife's life/is she seeing anyone/does she talk about you? Daddy couldn't get over her; maybe that's why she offed herself.

My eyes cracked open slowly as Hoyt's shiny, dingy face peered down at me. "Thank god," sighed Monty, crossing himself. "Wh—" I started, head spinning as a pair of rock hard around wound tight around my waist and hoisted me up, so high up, actually _lifting _my fat ass off the ground, my legs dangling. I felt like a doll compared to Thomas, who was massive in every way.

"Where is everyone?" I asked, looking around. No Meredith, no Kit, no Lexis, no Liam. "They went up to their rooms. Although the boy who grabbed you got into it with Thomas and ended up going to his room with a broken nose," Luda Mae said, wiping her hands on the towel peeking out of her apron.

Thomas set me down and I turned on my heel, looking up at him. One eye was swollen, looking horribly bruised from within the eyeholes of his mask. "Frozen peas," I said and they looked at me, confused; sighing, I turned to Thomas.

"Put a bag of frozen peas on his eye. Come here. Take off that mask and let me see how bad—" In an instant, he was on his feet, making me back up; he towered above me, a mountain of flesh and bone and anger, his eyes wide open and glaring down at me; he trembled. "Sweetie, why don't you step—" Luda Mae began. A cold panic and terror and embarrassment washed over me.

"I'm going to my room." My voice was choked and I could feel the hot tears fill my eyes. I couldn't even turn away fast enough for him to not see me cry; I hurried away and headed up the stairs. Thomas let out a shrill noise that sounded like a sob/scream and everything in my body turned cold as something crashed. I caught a glimpse while heading up the stairs. He'd crushed a glass cup in his hands, the shards decorating the floor beneath his shoes and he looked like a monster, the kind that hid in my head in the forms of razors and booze.

He looked up then and our eyes met. It was like a punch to the stomach and the tears gushed down my cheeks even harder then before, a flood running down my skin and burning my lips and I was drowning. I turned away and scrabbled up the steps; heavy footsteps sounded after me and I kicked up my speed.

I barely made it to my room when he caught up to me. He caught my arm and I yanked hard, sending myself stumbling to the floor. He stood above me, a tower of flesh and bone; his eyes full of tears that dripped down onto me.

I could hear the talking in the rooms down the hall: Lexis and Meredith were idly chatting; Kit, Liam and Brittany arguing about me; and Alex was snoring. "We're _leaving _her," Kit snarled. Something rattled. "Okay," sighed Liam and Brittany. "It's settled. We _are _leaving her here. We'll just tell her dad that she wanted to do her own thing," Lexis giggled, Meredith popped gum. She loved to chew and pop gum.

Thomas stayed where he was, above me, staring down; his tears burned my lips. "Thomas," I murmured, pushing myself up onto my elbows. Pieces of hair fell across my face and he leaned down further. A door opened, closed, and a camera went off, the flash illuminating Thomas.

Through the space of his braced legs, I saw long, smooth legs and black platform flip-flops. Meredith. _Pop _went the gum and Thomas turned, his shoulder blades jutting against the fabric of his shirt like wings; he snarled like a rabid animal and Meredith screeched in a grating way and I took the opportunity to crawl to my room and lock the door.

"Liam!" she screamed and a door slammed. "You wanna go?" Liam asked tiredly. There wasn't an answer and a door closed. I couldn't whether it was Thomas's door or the guest room's. My face stung and felt tacky; my eyes burned with every blink and I was aching and gritty. I remembered walking in on mommy, smoking a cigarette, naked after her latest boy left; her face was streaked with mascara.

I stripped down and let the water run, brushing out my hair and pulling out an oversized hoodie and sweats to sleep in later. I closed my eyes and remembered the first sip of Schnapps on my birthday at dad's, mommy fucking some guy in her room that day probably; she hadn't even realized it was my birthday.

I put in a stopper for the drain and let the water run, watching it fill the tub. I felt hollow and cold, bringing my arms across my chest to keep myself warm. The humidity crawled into my lungs and nested, bringing drowsiness and a feeling of calm. On the other side of the wall, I could hear the squeaking of bed springs, like someone sitting on a bed. Maybe it was Thomas, going to sleep. Maybe he was exhausted too.

I slipped into the water, feeling the heat biting at my skin and stick to my throat with each breathe, making it hard to breathe. The still as I laid back was unbearable but all the while very relaxing; I felt light and floaty.

I imagined that must've been how my mother felt when she died.


	6. Chapter 6

Baby Scars and Chainsaw Men

Six

Suspicions-Princess Trixie Sparkle

Everything was quiet the next morning. I woke up in the bathtub, cold as ice, hair dripping around me. For once, I wasn't drunk or high; I was groggy and cold. Sitting up, I let the stopper out and the water filed down into the drain. A dark line circled around the edge of the bathtub, a ring for where the water had been, and I felt the grimy film of disintegrated soap against my skin.

I washed it away with burning water and stepped out. I couldn't hear a living thing; maybe everyone else was asleep. I changed into a pair of sweats and a tank, showing off my scars; they looked blue in the light and puffy; the new cuts were scabbing over ever so slowly and liked to catch on fabric.

"Hello?" I called into the hallway, noticing the heat that nearly choked me.

"Good morning," replied Luda Mae as she swept passed, carrying a basket on her hip. Her braid was damp and her dress had sweat stains under the arms and around the high-buttoned collar. "Where is—" My voice must've betrayed me. "They're still sleeping," she said, smiling at me in an odd way; when I looked out the window, the car was gone but I figured they put it in the shed I'd seen earlier.

Shrugging off my chills, I headed down with her and bumped into Thomas on the landing. Face flaming, an apology tumbled out somewhat through a stutter and he just stared down at me with endless eyes, framed by long, ink-black lashes, the eyes of an angel.

He was dressed in a dingy tank top that showcased his hard muscles and broad shoulders and the hair on his forearms; his jeans looked thin and worn and he wasn't wearing shoes, for once. There was a sharp tang to his scent, the smell of cut fingers and pulled teeth and bitten tongues. Blood. I look him up and down but saw only dirt stains. He brushed passed me, nearly knocking me over, and headed for the cellar's door. I watched him shoulder the wide, metal door open with a metallic noise and slam it shut, his eyes never leaving mine.

"Come help me with dinner," Luda Mae said to me.

I couldn't get the smell out of my head.

oOo

I was exploring the rooms one by one, peering in after opening the doors. Dusty, covered furniture, mirrors, and empty, untouched beds were hiding behind most of the doors; I stepped into the other guests' room and held my breath as I peered in. Alexis was sleeping with her mouth hanging open across Brittany's flat stomach; Liam and Kit were curled up in one corner of the room, both completely naked; and Lexis and Alex were giving each other lazy, half-asleep kisses, petting each other's hair. I closed the door, cheeks burning, and headed back downstairs, where I found Luda Mae dicing up vegetables for roast.

The meat was dripping blood all over the cutting board and looked surprisingly fresh. The smell overwhelmed me, raw and thick and disgusting; a heavy, overpowering metallic smell, along with the stench of cold meat. I took a deep, steadying breath and tried not to notice that she was staring at my arms, bare except for the scars, on display by my freckly skin.

I pretended not to notice her noticing; I sliced and diced and chopped until the meat was good and ready and then she shooed me out, telling me to go get cleaned up. My hands were cold and wet and I reeked of meat; Alex and Brittany stumbled out of their room and knocked into me, sending me to my butt. They didn't say much, just stared down at me with heroine-red eyes and kept click-click-clicking down the stairs with their heels on and skirts backwards.

I could hear Luda Mae greeting them as I headed into my bathroom and washed my hands, watching the pink water swirl down the drain slowly, like my sleep had. At first, I slept like a babe, but now I got a few hours, maybe two or three if I was lucky. I heard footsteps. My bedroom door was closed and Liam stood in front of it, blocking my exit; his head was angled down before but his head jerked up to me. "Poor, prude, little Adrian," he whispered.

I gasped despite myself and saw the damage of his face. Scrapes littered his rough cheeks and his nose was swollen, set in a makeshift splint, bruised and the edges of his nostrils ringed with dried blood. "Pretty, lonely little Adrian." He flashed a grin and stepped closer; I took one forward as well. "What do you want? You despise me."

"Your little freak boyfriend did this to me."

Anger boiled up and exploded through my lips. "You deserved it," I spat, shaking my head. "You and your stupid drugs and crazy girlfriends who don't know how to keep their mouths shut and your stupid pride. I never _wanted _to be here, okay? It's not my fault." He threw his head back and laughed a loud, crazy laugh. "It's your fault for being born," he said in a soft voice, taking another step; I wanted to leap forward and rip at him with my nails, rip at him with my teeth and watching him pour red all over the floor.

I shook my head hard to clear the cannibalistic thoughts and saw his hand inching down his thigh, reaching for something. I hoped it wasn't his fly. The door opened suddenly and I could hear Kit crashing around the background, stomping his sneakers like a petulant child.

Thomas stood in the doorway, his head landing well above the top of it; he filled it at all sides, his dangerous eyes looking between Liam, who had his hands on his waist, looking murderous and embarrassed; and me, braced down close to the floor, ready to spring up and tear into Liam with whatever she could find.

His eyes met mine and something in them flashed dark and hot as the sun; his shoulders sat sharp with tension. He stepped inside, head brushing the ceiling, and towered where he stood, a monstrously huge mountain of flesh and bone and flashing eyes and greasy curls that tumbled around his cheeks. Liam swore and twisted away from me, stumbling towards the door; I hadn't noticed it before but his eyes were rimmed with a tell tale sign of crazy.

Kit's dark, stormy face appeared for a minute as Liam headed out the door, but not before turning to me, making an obscene, perverted gesture with his hips, and curling his lip at Thomas's broad back. "I'll be back, little Adrian," he mouthed to me and then he was gone, stalking his way downstairs where Lexis and Brittany and Alex were, sipping coffee and painting each other's nails and talking shit about the weird girl upstairs with cuts on her arms and a dead mommy choking her when she sleeps.

Tears filled my eyes as Thomas closed the door behind him and sat down on the floor, looking tired as I felt. I was exhausted, in fact, that I crawled onto my bed and faced Thomas, watching him through heavy lids and pale lashes. His hair gleamed like a raven's feather in the light.

Darkness spread through my eyes as I fell asleep.


	7. Chapter 7

Baby Scars and Chainsaw Men

Seven

Time To Say Goodbye–RWBY

Something heavy was draped across my back and over my waist. At first, I couldn't figure out at _all _what the hell it was until I felt it: breathing. Slow, deep, dead to the world. Warm, cascading across my cheek. Try as I might, my brain wouldn't allow me the luxury of remembering what happened last night.

What id _did_, however, give me was a full bladder and a killer migraine. I rolled to my side and let out a little shriek of surprise when I saw a man's face beside me. Thomas. I blinked.

"Thomas?"

His mask was lopsided and the corner of his mouth twitched in his sleep. The skin looked rough and chapped, like it was winter. I wanted to touch it but thought better of it. "I have to pee." I hesitantly nudged him. Nothing. Shoved him a bit. His arm simply tightened and pressed harder on my bladder. There went the breath from my lungs.

I wiggled as hard as I could, digging into his rock hard thighs with my heels as I squirmed and pulled, finally popping free with a sharp tug and landing ungracefully on the floor. Immediately, I headed for the toilet. When I was done, I washed my hands and splashed my face, streaked with dried tearstains and hints of mascara. I looked like a girl who'd been dumped at prom.

Sighing, I ran my fingers through my hair, far too lazy to truly brush it, and headed back out. Thomas was still asleep. I glared passed the sunlight burning a hole in my retinas as my hands searched for my bra and I pulled it on with a bit of awkward difficulty under my sweatshirt.

A loud, sharp voice began to sing. My phone. I panicked and searched for it in the folds of my clothes. Nothing. I swept a hand under the bed. Nope. I hopped up on my toes to look on top of the bookcase. No. I reached into the pockets of my jeans. Phone in hand, I scoffed and answered it.

"Hello?"

"Hi." My breath caught.

Dad.

"Hey," I said, clearing my throat as I fiddled with the ends of my hair, combing them, twisting them, yanking them, sucking them into my mouth. They tasted horrible.

"How's the—" A loud bang cut him off. He must've been on the job site. "—Vacation coming along?" he continued. "Well, I…I won't be coming home," I began slowly. My throat ached as the words left me. "W-What?" he stuttered. Another thunderous sound vibrated the connection like a vibrato. "I won't be coming home," I repeated, louder, feeling that familiar rush behind my eyes. Tears leaked down my cheeks.

"Why? Sweetie, I love you. At least come to get your things." He was taking this well.

"It's not that I want to. It seems Kit and his little bitch buddies are gonna leave me behind. If I argue, they'll beat the shit out of me. I don't have lots of options." I was full-blown crying now, tears dripping down my cheeks, snot running down my lips. I felt hot. "I don't…I can't…" He faltered. Something closed, a door maybe. It was sufficiently quieter.

He was crying too, taking huge gulps of air. "I can't lose you." My voice was choked and thick. "You're…you're all I have left."

"I know." A heavy, long sigh crackled. Was he smoking? "Are you smoking? I thought—" "I'm not. I'm bawling my eyes out in the storage room, for God's sake!" he whimpered. He sounded pathetic. "I'll figure a way back, I promise." Even I sounded unsure.

"Call me every day?"

A smile quirked on my lips but I smothered it as a sigh rattled thickly in my chest; I needed to wash my face again. "Of course," I replied and pushed forward. "I love you, Dad."

"I love you, Adrian. I'll talk to you tomorrow. We'll figure things out." I could hear the smile in his voice as he opened the door. The sounds of construction filled the line. "Bye."

I hung up and tucked my phone on top of a bookcase directly across from the window. When I turned, a scream exploded from my lungs. Thomas was sitting on the edge of the bed, rubbing sleep from his mask-hidden eyes. I felt guilty as his ocean eyes. At first, I thought his eyes had been brown, like chocolates but now I saw they were bluer than the sky. Maybe it was the shadows cast by that mask.

"G-good mo-morning," I squeaked. My voice was scratchy and thick still. His head tilted, in a childlike manner, kind of like a dog really. "That was my dad." Something lit up in his eyes. He relaxed and reclined on the bed, turning away from me. He dwarfed the bed as his legs hung off the ends and his arms brushed the floor. His heavy, hot eyes followed me to the bathroom as I brushed my teeth and flossed and washed my face again, this time with a dingy damp washcloth.

"I don't want to be stuck here," I sighed, closing the door behind me. He immediately bristled. "I mean, this place is lovely and you are amazing people but I have…I have school and work and my father and I really needs those things. But, it's not like I have any real friends or relationships waiting for me. No liens of boys and girls."

I suddenly felt exhausted again and snorted to myself, reaching in the bottom of the trunk at the foot of the bed. A must, untouched sweater smell rose up as I patted the dust from the comforters and blankets and pulled all of them out, laying them on the floor and layering them from biggest to smallest.

"I need you to get up," I said, nudging Thomas gently. "Go sleep in your room. I'll lock the door." His eyes crinkled as he rolled to face me and slowly pulled himself into a crumpled upright position. His bleary eyes looked at me absently and he slowly rose to his feet, stretching. His knees cracked. I winced as I fixed the sheets and lay the blankets over them.

"Goodnight, Thomas. Thank you for last night." I smiled weakly and, much to my surprise, he patted my head and walked out.

I locked the door like a good girl and even pushed my trunk, far heavier but easier to push now that it was empty of blankets, in front of the door. Satisfied, I braided my hair, located my charger and an outlet, and plugged in my phone to charge. I drew the blinds and crawled under the blankets, inhaling Thomas's scent.

I fell asleep again.


	8. Chapter 8

Baby Scars and Chainsaw Men

Eight

Outsider-Marina and the Diamonds

The first thing I noticed when I woke up was it was quiet. And still. I sat up, wiping the dried drool from my cheek. As I squinted into the shadows, I noticed a tall, broad figure. "Thomas, what are you doing in here?" I asked softly, pulling the hair tie from my braid. When the figure stepped closer, I noticed the frame was too thin, too short to be Thomas.

"Who—" I started, shooting to my feet when I saw the man lunge for me, knocking me onto my back. My head cracked against the wall as the face lurched at me in extreme contrast. Liam. "Hello, poor, little Adrian," he hissed dangerously, his stale breath reeking of beer and something pungent; his red-rimmed eyes looked at me with something inhumane.

"Let me go!" I yelled angrily, bucking myself in hopes of knocking him off balance. He simply settled down on my waist and pinned me with his weight. My eyes watered as he pinned my wrists and pulled his fist back, hitting me square in the face. Something crunched in my nose. A thick, hot liquid dripped down my cheeks. Tears or blood? I ran my tongue along my teeth; too thick to be tears.

"You've always been what I wanted," he crooned, smiling. His white teeth looked too predatory. "And you're not!" I spat and drew my head back, ignoring the pain of my nose, and threw my head forward, winching when our foreheads cracked against each other.

He howled and lost his balance. I drew up a knee when he leaned back and jerked it up, hitting him square in his family jewels. He squealed as he lost his balance entirely, crashing to the floor noisily. I scrambled to my feet, ignoring the puffy sensation on my face as I struggled to breath, choking on my own blood.

Liam groaned, rolling about on the floor as I tripped, landing on all fours. I sputtered, blinking against the tears in my eyes as he got to his knees, grinning maliciously. "Oh, sweet beauty, you deny me," he laughed, baring his teeth at me.

"I didn't know you could sound intelligent," I answered as he pushed himself up, to his feet. I scrabbled back, wincing when I slipped and my elbow scratched against the floor. He smiled suddenly as he wiped his forehead on his arm. "You're so beautiful," he said, leaning down over me. I swept my arm under the bed and gripped the first solid thing I felt, closing my fingers tight around the thin metal.

He laughed loudly as he reached for me. I pulled my arm out from under the bed and swung, hard. There was a loud crack as the lamp (which I now saw it as it was) connected with his jaw, sending him stumbling. Blood sprayed. I scrabbled to my feet as he stared at me in surprise, blood running down his chin. I stared at my hands in shock but I quickly jumped back when he lurched for me again.

I swung, using all my weight in the swing. It cracked against his temple and he gasped loudly, clutching his head. Blood ran between his fingers. I felt my gorge rise as he glared at me, lips peeling back in a sneer. His teeth were bloody; his front right one was missing. It took me a minute to realize it was lying on the floor.

"You little bitch," he growled as he swayed. His eyes looked cloudy. "No," I murmured, gripping my lamp. The door opened and I looked up, catching sight of Thomas's huge body filling the doorway. Liam took advantage of my lack of attention and started for me. I jabbed the bottom of the lamp into his knee, watching him fall hard to the floor.

He groaned, heaving. "Don't you ever touch me again," I whispered to him. He flipped me off. I wanted to kick him but, since I'm a good person, I didn't. My feet worked their way around him, out of his reach. My hands started to shake and I dropped the lamp, letting it clatter to the floor and roll about. It rested against Thomas's toes.

"I'm sorry," I said quietly, trying to hide my trembling fingers. My heart was pounding as he reached for me, gently wrapping his hard, huge arms around my shoulders. He hummed.

"What's going—what the _fuck _have you done, you fucking weirdo?" screamed Kit as he saw Liam lying in his own blood. "He tried something he shouldn't have," I answered quietly.

"What the hell?" asked Meredith as she came out of their room, going wide-eyed when she saw Liam. She shoved passed Kit and knelt beside him, stroking his hair away from his face. I watched her with growing disinterest, finding myself unattached to the bleeding boy she was holding.

"I'm not sorry," I told her gently, "He attacked me. I feel no remorse." My hands were shaking so I hid them behind my back, drinking in the vivid scene that reminded me of Law and Order: SVU. My mouth tasted sour and bitter, like lemons. "You're just a freak," Kit said as he stepped into the room, his face streaked with tears and his jaw hugged by scruffy stubble.

I blinked hard.

"I know," I said, too dizzy to try and argue with him. I swayed, feeling Thomas's fingers inches away from mine. His heat washed over me. "I always knew it but I never thought you'd actually give us any evidence of it," Kit continued, his voice growing in volume. My head pounded with pressure as I wiped my nose. My hand was streaked with blood.

"Now you have a legitimated reason to leave me here," I said, smiling down at my feet as Kit stepped up into the space before me. I didn't have any time to throw my hands up or even register his fist flying towards my face before it hits.

The world blurs and flashes black.


	9. Chapter 9

Baby Scars and Chainsaw Men

Nine

I'll Sleep When I'm Dead-Set It Off

The ceiling was doing loops above me as I woke up slowly, tasting blood in my mouth. The air was dry and stale. I could hear someone sobbing, a loud, constant wailing that ended in muffled coughs.

"I can't…he hit…" a voice was saying, raspy like a smoker's. I blinked as I sat up slowly, disorientated. "Oh God," whispered Monty, staring at me with wide, brown eyes. "What happened?" I asked when I could speak but no one was listening to me; their voices drowned me out. "—How dare—"

"—Gonna kill—"

"—Already dead—"

"I killed him?" All heads snapped to me; Hoyt's face chalky was against Luda Mae's shiny and sunburned one; Monty refused to meet my eyes and Thomas was nowhere to be found. Hoyt swore and walked away, muttering something about needing a smoke. "Did I kill him?" My head was spinning wildly as the door slammed shut behind him. Rays of pale sunlight crawled across my vision and dust swam around in it; I felt dazed.

"No, no," Luda Mae answered, patting my hand gently; her eyes kept drifting towards the door. My stomach churned when I heard it. At first, I didn't know what I was listening to but, as the time grew, I heard it. The silence. No creaking of the floorboards, no chatter of the girls or guys; nothing.

"What happened?" I demanded, feeling my throat tighten. I was too close to tears. Monty's face flashed with understanding and he wheeled away; quietly, he wrestled the door open and closed it just as quietly.

"Adrian," Luda Mae began slowly, not quite meeting my eyes yet, "have you noticed something odd about this place?" Goosebumps broke out across my skin. "W-what?" I croaked, eyed darting everywhere. "Hardly anyone comes here," she continued, twisting the edge of the quilt between knobby fingers, "and, well…we've got to eat."

"Eat?" I echoed and watched my breath blow the dust across the light, scattering the particles. My head pounded. "Yes, eat," she said with a tiny shake of her head. Something in my stomach rolled. Suddenly, it clicked. _Eat. Hardly anyone comes here. _"You eat people," I stated dryly, staring at the blinds instead of Luda Mae's sunburnt face, rays of light stabbing my eyes as it shined through the slits. "You _eat _people. You're cannibals." My stomach hurt. "This isn't some fucked up horror movie or some foreign country; this is _Texas _for Christ's sake!" My voice was growing shriller and shriller as I panicked, stomach aching. "Now, I know it's a lot—"

"A _lot_? How many people have you killed? Is _that _what the meat was?" My ears rang with the shrillness of my voice. Luda Mae frowned at me. "We've stopped counting after the first two dozen," she calmly explained, "and maybe." Her voice was cool and calming; however, I was having a breakdown and nothing would help.

Hot, thick tears poured down my cheeks as I curled up, screaming whenever Luda Mae tried to embrace me. "Leave," I begged in a raw voice. "Please. Just _leave_."

The door clicked shut behind her softly and I pressed my face into the musty pillow and cried.

oOo

Hours passed when I woke up. It was light outside still but I couldn't see a clock (digital or analog, either) so I wasn't quite sure if days or hours had passed. I lay on my back, curled up under the heavy, warm blankets, and closed my eyes again.

_They eat people. _

_But they've been nicer than anyone you've ever known, even your own family. _

_And they happen to _eat _people. _

_So? You and I eat hamburgers and chicken all the time; how is this any different? _

_They _kill _people. _

_So do we. _

_Plus, it's just immoral. Are you _seriously _considering staying with them? _

_It could be worse; we could go off and get sold into the sex slavery trade. Or we could get kidnapped and tortured. Or—_

_Enough! This isn't an episode of SVU. _

Sighing, I pressed my face into the pillowcase and held myself completely still, ears straining to hear any signs of life. Had I really killed Liam? In my defense, he'd attacked me and I'd defended myself; albeit, with a lamp pole and maybe that wasn't the best decision but it had been my only weapon.

"Don't you think you should get up?" Monty asked softly from the other side of the door, knocking quietly. I didn't respond and breathed in the musky smell of the room.

oOo

An explosion of noise shattered the silence and jolted me awake in the middle of the night. It was a loud, clanging sort of screaming and the grumbling of a chainsaw added to the cacophony of the house. "No!" I heard a shrill girl's voice howl as the door flew open, hitting the wall with a loud bang. I pressed myself against the farther corner of the bed as a head of red-streaked blonde hair came tumbling through the door, crying. Streaks of darkness stained the floor as she scrambled in, slamming the door behind her.

Sitting against the wood, her head bowed as she quivered, I noticed the darkness pooling form several wounds in her ankles and the front of her blouse was torn down the middle, revealing a long gash running from her throat to the beginning of her lacy bra. When her head lifted, I was startled to find myself staring into mascara streaked grey eyes; half of her face burned and bubbled, charred beyond recognition. Something animalistic flashed across her face before she realized who I was and crawled forward like an ape, wincing as she walked on her torn ankles.

"You've gotta help me," she whispered, glancing over her shoulder continuously like there was something big and bad behind the door. I blinked hard to clear away my sleepy fuzz and realized who it was: Brittany. "They're _crazy_," she rasped, clawing up the bedsheets and shuffling closer. She smelled like wet concrete and blood. Her eyes gleamed. One was bloodshot, vessels burst from exertion. "They—oh God, the ugly one, big fat brute—he killed them! Chopped their goddamn heads off—" She stopped and hiccupped, rocking back and forth.

"I woke up—dear Jesus—Alex and Lexis were—god, he just slammed their heads together—Kit was gone—Liam…Liam was fighting him…he turned and just picked Liam up like he weighed nothing—Kit was crying; the fucking sicko had cut off his legs—" Her eyes gleamed with tears as she broke off, crying quietly. My head spun. My only thought was _I didn't kill Liam. _"Wait, Thom—" A loud crunch cut me off.

And then the door exploded off the hinges and flew across the room, crashing through the window. Brittany screamed. I screamed as I saw the figure lumbering through the doorway, wielding that same chainsaw I'd seen the first day, his mask off for the first time.

And he looked horrifying, shadows sharpening his deformity; but what was truly frightening was the way his eyes were cold and devoid of any consciousness. He was a killing machine and he was here for us.


	10. Chapter 10

Baby Scars and Chainsaw Men

Ten

Battle- Rainbow Rocks

Panic exploded inside me as his dark eyes met mine, Brittany's French tips digging into my arm. She was pulling me back, shrieking, and Thomas's eyes narrowed, zoning in on her. "Thomas, don't do this," I pleaded and his eyes roamed my face for a split second before he began to stalk closer, his boots thudding with each step, and his weight vibrated my entire being. For the first time in my life, I was terrified. I hadn't been terrified when my mother drowned herself nor when my cuts wouldn't stop bleeding but now, I had the overwhelming urge to piss myself and cry like a baby. "Thomas!" I called, sharply, hoping to catch his attention again.

Brittany had let go of my arm and was panicking, struggling to open the window; her long nails scratched at the wood frantically, like a dog begging to be let in. Thomas was getting closer and closer and I scrambled in-between them, throwing my arms out wide to wrap around his waist when he came too close. "Tommy! Stop! This is _madness_!" I sobbed and he hesitated. Brittany saw her chance and dove for the open door, only to be forced back by Hoyt, wielding a bloody kitchen knife.

My stomach ached when Thomas wrapped a hand in my hair and yanked me away, tearing a scream from my lips at being manhandled. "Thomas!" I shrieked, kicking my legs frantically and froze when his eyes caught mine. He looked sad and resigned, a dying man accepting his fate. "Let her down, son," Luda Mae ordered but he simply tightened his grip and yanked me up further even more harshly, my toes dragging on the floor below me. I was barely even half his size and I stared up at him in surprise, startled by his proximity. His warm breath fanned.

For a long minute, everything was silent. Brittany's sobbing had dissolved into nothingness and no one was screaming. My so-called companions were dead or dying and no one seemed to think anything of it. Against my will, tears flooded my vision and blurred Thomas's disfigured face. His skin was molted and splotchy, like bad sunburn; his nose was nonexistent and there were gaping holes in his cheeks where skin should've been. It looked like something out of a nightmare and a wave of sympathy and pity washed over me, nearly knocking me backwards.

"Tommy," I whispered brokenly and hated how my voice broke. Brittany started to scream and the moment was shattered; immediately, Thomas dropped me and I gasped when I hit the ground, the impact jarring me fiercely. I watched in horror and a bit of sick fascination as he leaned down, grabbed the blonde girl by her throat, and slowly began to squeeze. "Th—" I started, dropping to my knees in weakness as I watched him squeeze and squeeze, watched Brittany's tanned legs kick weakly, her terrified blue eyes glittering with shards of tears.

"Please." My voice came out tiny and weak, broken in sorrow. He paused before he continued, until there was a loud crack and she lay still in his hands, her face vacant of life, her eyes staring at me, almost accusingly like _how could you let this happen? _I clenched my hands into fists. "How could you?" I demanded as the sharp scent of blood wafted from her now dead body.

My stomach rolled as she collapsed from his huge hands, crumpled like a lifeless doll once she hit the floor. Horror spiked inside me. "Oh, Thomas," I breathed as he turned to me, hands dripping red, from where her nose and eyes had begun to bleed, and I scrambled backwards. It wasn't that I was afraid of _him_ per say, but what he'd _done. _Did I have the same demise as Brittany? I couldn't speak and my hands clawed at the wood beneath me, struggling to pull myself upright. "Tommy." His name rushed out in a whoosh of breath.

Something flared to life in his sad eyes. He looked angry, like I'd spat at him, and he loomed above me, a mountainous figure of muscle, his shoulders blotting out the light that flooded the hallway. His shadow fell across me and I pushed myself backwards, wincing when I hit the windowsill against my head. "Shit," I hissed as he paused, his step faltering, wavering. "What am I supposed to say? Good job?" My voice was growing shriller and shriller and I was setting myself up for another break down. I clawed my way upright, swaying on my feet.

"I don't know what the _fuck _to say! You just…just _killed _someone, Tommy!" My hands found their way into my hair and I tugged, blinding myself with the pain of my locks being yanked. They throbbed from being pulled earlier. Thomas's eyes changed, growing from angry to confused. His breathing resonated loudly in the air. "Am I supposed to _congratulate _you guys? You just committed several acts of _fucking murder_!" My voice cracked as I rocked back and forth, staring at him, at Monty and at Hoyt, slowly bringing my gaze to rest of Luda Mae, who looked resigned. "I hate to do this," she sighed, patting Hoyt's arm as she turned and walked away. "Tommy, you know what to do." To me, she said, "It's for your own good."

When Thomas came forward, towering above me, his eyes sad and tired, I was too terrified to move. "What're you—" His hand clamped down on my mouth, pressing a rag against my lips and an insanely sweet smell invaded. My vision doubled on itself and I saw two men, both leaning over me, both holding the cloth. They looked the same and I flailed for a split second, hoping and praying to dislodge the cloth from my face. It was like being put to sleep for surgery, counting down slowly while you go lightheaded and then everything goes black.

oOo

I woke up in my room, the blinds drawn and a faint stain from where Brittany's body had lain. My head was full of cotton balls and my mouth tasted tacky and sickly fuzzy, like soda. When I rose and wobbled to the door, I tried to open it. Panic flooded my entire system.

They'd locked me in.


	11. Chapter 11

Baby Scars and Chainsaw Men

Eleven

Ending Scene Audio-Love Never Dies

After pounding my fists bloody against the door, I slid back, against the wall. "You can't do this," I croaked weakly, lips cracking and stinging as I spoke. Muffled footsteps. "I'm afraid we have to." My lips stung as I gnawed at the skin, flakes lying on my tongue. "Why?" I asked Luda Mae through the door, scratching at it. "For all our sakes," she replied. Her footsteps creaked down the hall, leaving me alone with my thoughts. My angry, scrambled eggs thoughts.

I thought of everyone. Dad crying over the phone, the jobsite crashing around behind him, crackling smoke. "I love you, baby," he'd sobbed, the words nearly drowned out by the crash of steel behind him. My eyelids lowered. I wanted to stay awake, see if I could wiggle my way out but I needed—craved—sleep. Everything was turning black, slowly.

oOo

Heavy footsteps broke my dream of playing with Mom in the garden and snapped me back to the present. Rough hands grabbed at my hair, yanking me to my feet, and I kicked out my legs desperately. Fire raced down my spine from the roots of my hair, branching out over my scalp. "Relax." I struggled to see Hoyt as something cold pricked my neck, piercing like icy hell.

"Put me _down_!" I threw my head forward and gasped in agony as my forehead connected with some else's. A loud, childish wail rose, making me clamp my hands to my ears as I dropped. Something cold and wet splashed my legs and soaked my jeans, passed my underwear. Water? I squinted down as I tried to figure out what I was sitting in.

It was too thick for water, too warm for it too. A bathtub, maybe? Something was twisting in my belly as the familiar smell filled my lungs: blood. Rusty quarters and paper cuts, canker sores and pulled teeth. Ignoring the ice rolling through my veins, I pushed myself to my feet, sloshing. Droplets sprayed my cheeks, dripping down to my jaw. My white t-shirt clung to my chest, sticking to my skin, see-through, pink bra on display. Where was my sweatshirt?

I kicked out my feet, liquid splashing around my legs and soaking my pants. "Adrian!" It was Hoyt, his face sunburnt and sweaty, standing under a light. The light hanging down from the ceiling, swinging and giving me glimpses of the room, illuminated his tall, reedy figure. Lots of shiny metal. Something red streaking the metal and walls (were those even _walls_?). Something pale pink, a peachy, flesh color. Someone moaned, long and low, and my skin prickled, every hair on end. It sounded painful, like a half-alive zombie dragging itself out of the grave.

"Come here, girl." Hoyt looked frantic, his dark eyes nearly bugging out of his head as he waved his long, gangly arms at me. "Adrian!" I swiveled. It was Monty, the dog yapping at me from his lap. He looked even worse than Hoyt, with a badly peeling sunburn and a bloody nose. What happened? I stepped closer to him. Hoyt was screaming behind me hoarsely, his voice straining and wavering in certain places. I heard Thomas before I saw him.

His shirt was ripped and hanging off his chest, slashed down the middle like it had been torn away with carelessness; his mask was still missing; and gripped in one hand was a boy's head, dragging the half-alive kid behind him slowly. "Let me _go _you sick son of a—" A quick slam of the kid's head into the ground made him moan, his words choked out. "Thomas! Stop!" I cried as I stumbled forward, slipping. I hit something cold and silky, the slap of skin echoing. Everything went hush and even the boy went quiet, watching me with glazed eyes and a broken nose, one eye swollen shut.

Light flooded the room and I couldn't find any words in my throat; instead, all I could do was sputter and choke on the air as I stared down at the bodies. Tons and tons of bodies, all sizes, shapes and ethnicities. Missing arms, legs, and flayed open, hanging on hooks; there were arms and legs sticking out of the freezer in the corner. Bodies on the metal tables, still bleeding. _We have to eat. _I knew they were murderers but this—this took the cake.

Hoyt shook his head sadly. "Now, Adrian, you're a reasonable girl, right?" It was Monty, a hand on my shoulder. The dog licked my ear as I sat there, wondering why the water had grown warm. My face burned with embarrassment as my brain processed this: I'd wet myself. To my growing dismay and horror, my eyes began to fill. Hot salt water dripped down my cheeks, hit my chest. Was I going to die just like them, my body hanging from those meat hooks or stacked atop of glazy boy?

"No."

I curled up tight, hugging my knees; unable to stop the racks of shivering and muscle spasms that overtook my damp, chilled body. No one said anything for a very long time, until the boy let out a moan again and Thomas calmly offed him with a simple whack. The body slumped into the water; mouth open and urine-and-water flowed in. My stomach coiled.

_I don't want to die_, I thought eventually, albeit brokenly, staring at Thomas's massive, steel-toed boots. The boy's hair was curly and dark. Kit. I hadn't recognized him at all, looking so young and childlike, his body bruised and bloody. My stomach was demanding attention, curdling angrily at the images. I wanted to scream, cry, and run away but I knew any of those would get me killed.

"If you're going to kill me, Thomas," I rasped breathlessly, my throat dry; mouth tasting of cotton swabs; crawling to him on my knees; ignoring the sloshing urine in my jeans; and bloody water-urine touching my hands and clothes, "then do it quickly."

I grabbed his hand and placed it over my face.

"Do it."

His hand clenched.


	12. Chapter 12

Baby Scars and Chainsaw Men

Twelve

Into the Woods Prologue-Into the Woods

For the longest time, Thomas stared down at me, his eyes giving away nothing. All I could hear was the blood rushing in my eardrums, louder than the beating of drums, feeling his pulse beat against my skin in his rough fingertips, staring up at him.

And then he was throwing me down, my head cracking harsh against the ground. I scrambled upright, staring at him in surprise. He turned away after shooting me a long, black look like he couldn't believe me, I was so disgusting to him, and stepped over Kit's limp body. Without any effort, he lifted the boy up onto a cold, metal slab of a table and grabbed my leg, yanking me closer. My shirt lifted, concrete scratching my back raw.

"Thomas!" I managed to choke out, eyes watering in fear but he ignored me, grabbing my arm instead. His grip cut through the cold fabric of my wet shirt, boiling hot. I shivered and wrapped my fingers around his hand, knees shaking. For all the sickest fantasies I'd ever had, I couldn't bear to look at the dead boy in front of my eyes.

Thomas shook me, making my head rattle. I struggled to find my footing. He gave me a short look before reaching down, pulling out a hatchet. And then he swung it back and it fell again, slicing through Kit's abdomen.

I felt my legs give out before I slipped, crashing back into the cold, bloody water. Shock exploded through me and my legs kicked out, catching the surface to propel me backwards. Thomas paused mid-strike and turned, watching me the entire time as he let the blade fall. There was a crack, something giving way.

My vision went fuzzy a bit and I blinked passed tears. "You…you…" I pushed myself to my feet and my sneaker caught on something, pitching me forward. Unfortunately, I was standing far too close to the table and the edge hit my head hard. Something hot poured down my face.

I blacked out.

oOo

When I came to, the room was dark and hot. Every lungful of air was dry and stale, like coming back into your house after a long trip. Being surrounded in the darkness was weird, like going to sleep and remembering that pitch black at the tale end of consciousness.

Curiously, I shifted my weight and the thing under me squeaked in protest. A bed, then. Fabric whispered when I moved my legs, silky. Sheets. My fingers shook as I lifted my hand up to touch my face.

My lips were there, so was my nose and eyes. My fingertips bumped against something scratchy. I felt around. There was an edge, a strip of something wrapped around my forehead. Maybe bandages. Probably. When I reached right above the end of my eyebrow, there was a sharp strike of pain. Had I cut it?

A door opened. Light slanted in, flooding the room. It was my room, my clothes all over the floor (when had that happened?) and my phone. "What happened?" I asked, looking at the tall, skinny figure illuminated in the light. "Hit your head. Luda Mae stitched you right up." He knocked on the doorframe a few times like people do for good luck before he ambled in with that shuffled walk of his.

He was still wearing that stained sheriff's uniform but the shirt was missing, replaced by a dingy t-shirt with oil stains and sweat stains. His pants were rumpled and dragging on the ground and he was carrying a beer in his hand. I managed a weak glare at him passed the blur in my vision.

"Here." He shoved the beer at me, nearly dropping it in the process and I squinted at him, trying to decide his angle: get me drunk to take advantage of me or kill me more easily? Cold droplets of condensation hit my bare legs, and for the first time, I realized what little I was wearing: a button down that was far too huge on me, a sail of a shirt really, and a skirt that was twisted around my hips from my fitful sleeping.

I yanked the fabric down quickly, my face burning brightly with embarrassment as Hoyt shoved the beer further into my face. "No, I-I don't want that." My voice cracked a little when I said that. "Ain't nothing but sweet tea," Luda Mae said, wiping her hands as she hobbled in. Her cheeks were sunburnt and she was sweating, her dress littered with huge sweat stains around the underarms and neckline and bust; her braid was dark at the temples with it.

Hoyt shot her a look. "We didn't have any more glasses," he said, kicking a boot into the crooked floorboard underneath him. I twisted the skirt between my fingers, feeling the cold fabric; the collar of the button down dug into my throat with every move I made. "W-who's clothes are these?" I asked, pushing my loose hair out of my face.

"Mine. Your others were just soaked!"

Hoyt flashed her another look, this one dark and stormy as a tropical storm-beaten sea. "Mama—" he began tersely, his face starting to turn redder and redder by the minute. "Hush now, boy." She swatted at him absently and he sulked, slinking back. "Now, I know what you saw down there was—" She folded her hands across her wide belly and stared me down from the tops of her red glasses. "—Frightening but I thought you had more common sense than to run in water."

"You guys are fifty shades of fucked up." Luda Mae's face went slack with shock, eyes huge and round behind the lenses. "You guys kill and _eat _people? How is that _sensible? _How is taking someone away…" A wave of emotion crashed over me and a lump formed in my throat, choking my voice out. "…Someone away from their loved ones? Who cares if they're slutty or rude?"

My nose was running now, dripping down my face, down my mouth. It took me a long pause to realize I was crying, bawling like a babe, huge, thick tears dripping down my cheeks, burning them. "How is that fair? How is it? Look me in the eye and tell me that these kids won't be missed, won't be looked for? Tell me you don't feel any remorse as you fill your stomach with someone's daughter."

Luda Mae opened her mouth, closed it, and Hoyt smashed the beer bottle into the floor. I pulled the covers over my head as he screamed and cursed and stomped out, yelling for Thomas. Luda Mae sighed softly and shuffled out.

The door clicked shut behind her and everything fell silent again.


	13. Chapter 13

Baby Scars and Chainsaw Men

Thirteen

True Love Café-Nicole Dollanganger

I woke up in a flurry of limbs flailing and drenched in sweat. Luda Mae's blouse clung to me, sticking to my skin, and the skirt was twisted around my legs. My lungs burned for oxygen and I gasped, clawing the blankets off of my face.

Something—Something woke me up. Sputtering, I looked around. The room was pitch-black except for a faint glow off near the bookcase. Soft music was playing. It took me a long minute to unravel myself from the mess of blankets and sheets and stumble over to the source of the glow, wincing when I stubbed my toe.

It was my phone, my dad's number flashing across the little screen. I swallowed a huge breath and answered. "Hello?" My voice was breathless and raspy. I winced at the sharp feedback. "Oh, God, Adrian," Dad sobbed over the phone. Something clanged in the background and then a door clicked shut, significantly quiet. His shuddering breathing filled the line. "What, Dad?" I croaked and then coughed. "The police won't help me," he said. Something clattered and smashed. I imagined him sweeping his arm across his desk, smashing everything.

"Dad, I'm…I'm okay." I shuffled back to the bed, feeling the mattress creak underneath my weight. "I'm okay. They didn't hurt me, but…" I bit my lip hard, struggling hot to word "those assholes are dead" right. "They killed everyone else." Silence made my ears ring. "Dad?" I asked.

"Dad?" I repeated. My voice broke. "They…killed them?" he echoed and his voice sounded hollow. My stomach twisted and ached. "Dad, they…they want me to be one of—" The door flew open and Hoyt stalked in. His eyes were bloodshot and he reeked of gasoline and cigarette smoke. He wasn't wearing his uniform, just a pair of ratty jeans and a grimy tank top under a button down. The beer in his hand slipped out of his hand and shattered over the floor, shards spilling all over.

"You little bitch!" he snarled and lurched at me, completely ignoring the shards of glass underfoot. My dad yelled over the phone, hoarsely screaming my name, and I scrambled away, panicked. Hoyt kept coming, kicking away shards of glass, arms outstretched. His fingers formed claws. "Adrian?" Dad was panicked, screaming at me, for me, swearing. Something clattered in the background of his audio. I screamed, Dad screamed, and Hoyt roared, kicking aside the broken bottle like it was tissue paper.

"Adrian?" Dad sobbed hysterically. "Don't _touch _it!" I hissed at Hoyt. "It's my dad." Hoyt scowled at me and smacked the phone out of my hand. "Dad!" I screamed and scrambled for it but the sheriff kicked me in the stomach and I went down. My dad's voice warbled through the speaker and I watched, feebly struggling to breathe, as Hoyt walked over, lifted his foot, and then crushed my only means of communication with the last member of my family. My vision tunneled.

"You think I wouldn't realize you were calling for help?" Hoyt hissed as he walked back to me and yanked me up by my hair. I kicked my legs but he swift landed a solid punch to my stomach, stopping any protests. Tears stung my eyes, painful and sharp. I gasped for oxygen as he pulled me up, fire burning through my scalp. "I'll get the boy to deal with your sorry ass," he snorted and through a blurry haze, I watched the room fall away, replaced by the long, dark hallway.

"What do you think you're doin'?" Luda Mae snarled as he dragged me down the steps, a huge, wide grin on his face. "Caught the bitch dialing her little daddy," he laughed and flung me down. Shock exploded as I tried to brace myself, my foot catching on the last step. The ground was cool and smooth and smelled delightfully like lemons. My scalp throbbed viciously and I could feel bile rise up in my throat, hot and acidic. Above me, I barely registered Luda Mae fussing at Hoyt.

"Are you okay?" she asked, crouching down beside me. She reached down and wiped something off my cheek—a tear, straying from the corner of my eyes, down the slope of my nose. I hadn't even realized I was crying. Somewhere, distantly, Hoyt was screaming up a storm, swearing, stomping, and carrying the overpowering stench of cigarette smoke. Luda Mae stroked the hair out of my eyes as she felt my stomach, checking for broken ribs or ruptured organs.

Every touch, as light as hers was, felt like a blazing knife stabbing me, twisting every which way, digging deeper and deeper, the fire growing hotter and hotter. It was like I was being burnt alive, a fire growing inside my skin, bubbling and boiling my blood and bones. My veins burned with lava in place of my blood.

"Hoyt, you son of a bitch!" cried Monty from his chair. "She didn't do anything wrong and you've beaten her as bad as Tommy does with our meat!" He rolled in and I saw the bottoms of his black wheels, his bare feet and the edge of his muddy, thread-barren jeans, curled up around his hairy, pale ankles. Faintly, as if from a great distance, I could hear the dog yapping her head off.

"Tommy, come here! Tommy! Ssh, it'll be alright." Luda Mae's clammy, trembling fingers brushed away the pieces of hair sticking to my forehead. I turned my head and, through blurry tunnel vision, I saw the metal door to the basement slide open, screeching the entire way. Thomas's huge, chunky boots thundered with every massive, earthquake-worthy step. The pictures on the wall rattled and then his hulking form ducked out of the frame, so tall the top of his head brushed the top of the metalwork.

He was dressed in a ratty t-shirt stained with sweat and grime and something dark red that I was guessing wasn't strawberry sauce; his slacks were worn out at the knees, hanging on with threads over his dirt-stained knees; his boots were unraveling at the seams, the rubber peeling off and dripping huge, watery footprints. His dark hair was hanging around his face in limp, clumped curls, greasy and lank in the light.

He lowered his eyes to me and something dawned in his eyes, a familiar, regretful kind of sadness.


	14. Chapter 14

Baby Scars and Chainsaw Men

Fourteen

Down In Ashes-Beautiful Ghost

There was a massive bruise taking up most of my face, I found out later when I went to change out of my blouse, fingers shaking. It occurred to me as I stood there, staring at my reflection in nothing but a flimsy bra, that I hadn't tried to run away. A huge, molted green-and-yellow bruise took up a good chunk of my face, stretching from just under my ear all the way to my right eye; a lump protruded from my forehead, tender to the touch. Tears flooded my eyes, hot and stinging, as I touched it. It was kind of like poking a scrape; pain flaring for a split second and then subsiding.

I decided to take a bath. Maybe soaking in water hot enough to boil would wash away Hoyt's beating. It drained me; maybe that was why I wasn't trying to run. Any sensible person would have taken for the hills by now. My legs quivered, muscles twitching violently, as I stripped off my skirt. Water rolled down in droplets on the mirror, making streaks.

Heat rubbed against my arms and legs, tugging at my scars. I ran my fingers along the ridges, puffy and pinched, some still healing even after a year. The floor creaked under my weight as I lifted one leg, set my foot inside the hot water, and winced. It was far too hot but I made myself slide in anyway. There was just weightlessness, and I felt suspended in the water, waves lapping at my chin and my shoulders; pieces of hair billowed out underneath my back, against my forehead.

The water stained ceiling tiles stared back at me as I stared up, breathing steadily and evenly. All I could hear was my breathing, low and soft, and the dripping of the faucet that created little ripples across the quivering surface of the water. My eyelids bobbed as I fought against sleep. A shiver rolled up my spine; sending short splashes across my breasts and up my nose. It burned for a little bit.

I wondered if Sara felt like that when she drowned. Had water rushed up her nose as she put one of Daddy's weights on her belly, pushing her down into the surface? Did she watch the ceiling get black with spots when she started to lose oxygen? Did the water fill up her lungs, inch by inch, as she tried to make her body limp, tried to keep her face from breaching the surface? Did she feel weightless, arms and legs bobbing with gentle ripples, as her lungs burned, her eyes prickled and her blood roared, begging for oxygen when she didn't want to have oxygen anymore?

The door squeaked open. Red-tinted trails of water rolled down my breasts, my stomach; I blinked it out of my eyes. When I looked up, Thomas hovered in the doorway, eyes staring at me from within his mask, lidded. I lifted one hand, watching the water cascade off my fingers, to wave to him; his eyes widened.

"Do you ever think about death? About the people you've killed?" I asked, leaning back down into the water. Ripples filled my ears as he stepped closer, his shadow falling across my face, blocking out the flickering light overhead. "I mean, I think about death. A lot lately, actually. My mom killed herself when I was seventeen." He sat down on the ground beside me and the motion rocked the surface of the water, creating huge ripples and making the loose tiles quiver on the walls. A few fell and plopped into my bath water. As I fished them out halfheartedly, he sat still, eyes locked on a bare chunk of wall. "I found her, actually." I splashed a tiny bit, picking up a piece of plaster with my toe; it was a speck of white against the black nail polish of my toenails.

"I'm done." I pulled myself upright and found the handle of the stopper with my toes; once I knew where it was, I put my hand down and tugged. While the water drained, cold water ran down my breasts and back, making me shiver; Thomas fidgeted and then, almost indecipherably, shook his head. I raised a brow. "You really don't think about the people you kill?"

"They deserved it. Well, not so much deserved it, but they were, pardon my French, assholes. Rude, uncivilized, self-absorbed children who grew up with everything at their fingertips." Luda Mae was in the doorway, watching us disapprovingly from the tops of her glasses. It took me a minute to realize this wasn't exactly the most appropriate place for this conversation and I said to Thomas, "I'm good here, Tommy. Head down. I'll be down after a while." He pulled himself upright with the creaking of his bones and his head brushed the top of the ceiling. Luda Mae frowned at him when he leaned down close to me and patted the top of my head, shifting his fingers through the limp pieces of hair, and then he turned away, heading out the door as quietly as he'd come.

"If I catch you in here again," she warned, wagging her finger not unlike a mother in a sitcom, shooting me a quick, dark look. Why did I keep thinking about her? Thomas cowered away and broke into a sprint down the hallway; now that he was scared, even mockingly, his footsteps were like gunshots. More loose tiles shuddered. A few pieces of ceiling plaster plopped into the water next to me, disrupting the smooth surface; from there, they floated listlessly.

I reclined into the water again, watching Luda Mae watch me, her face pinched. "If I ever catch the two of you—" I shook my head to make her shut up. Water bubbled from the little breath I pushed out of my mouth.

oOo

I woke up in a cold sweat, flailing about in cold, gritty water, my skin covered in goosebumps all over. Water splashed out on either sides of the tub, spilling onto the floor in wet puddles, making everything far too slick to walk had I even thought of it. The buzzing of a trapped fly throwing itself was a steady backdrop to my labored breathing; my mouth was sticky and dry pieces of skin peeled off in flakes, tasting of tears; my eyes stung and I struggled to make sense of things around me.

Nudging the stopper with my toe, I located it and pulled the plug. As the water drained, I shook off the cool water clinging to me and squeezed my hair out and dried off slowly, taking my time. Outside was bitterly silent as I dressed, taking my time with the puffy, patchy scars that caught on the fabric of my sleeves and the way the denim of my jeans clung to my slightly damp thighs. Not a soul stirred; I might as well have been in the Night Before Christmas poem.

I closed my eyes and felt alone.


	15. Chapter 15

Baby Scars and Chainsaw Men

Fifteen

Paint It Black-VersaEmerge

I woke to shaking, a huge, grimy hand on my shoulder. At first, I thought it was an earthquake, but then realized _I _was the one trembling. "H-Huh?" My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth as the hand slid off my shoulder, and curled around my bicep. The nails bit in. "Hey!" I yelled out, trying to rear back to break away, my eyes struggling to adjust. There was a muffled noise, a mix between a shout and a groan. "Christ, girl, knock it off!" Something hard hit me behind my ear, and I cringed. "Now, get up! Do it! Stupid fucking —" A hand slid into my hair, curling around it, making a fist; my scream rang out shrilly; it made my head spin.

It took me about two seconds to realize it wasn't Monty, Hoyt, and definitely wasn't Luda Mae. "Let me go!" I shrieked, kicking my legs as I stumbled the tangle of sheets wrapped around my thighs; when I went down, the guy holding me stumbled a bit. "Don't _touch _me! Hoyt! Tommy! Help!" Blood exploded in my mouth when the guy yanked me up, my scalp screaming in protest, and back-handed me across the face; I felt a few teeth come loose and scatter across the ground. I ran my tongue along the gaps and opened my mouth wide, letting the blood fall all over my bare, scratched feet.

The guy swore loud enough to raise the dead and jerked me backwards, driving his knee into the end of my spine. Any air in my lungs was knocked away in a soundless scream as the man twisted his fingers, ripping out more hair. I couldn't see anything passed the tears, and my lower back throbbed from the vicious blow, too sharp for me to even dream of formulating words, other than the guppy-like motions of my mouth opening and closing. His walk was stiff and jerky, like he was in pain; the swish of his clothes was deafening as he half-dragged, half-pushed me along. Every step made my toes ache as I continued to struggle with all my might. _Maybe if I break his concentration just _once_, _I thought desperately, forcing all my muscles to relax, like I'd given up. Unfortunately, as though he'd figured out my plan, he looped an arm roughly around my waist and hissed venomously in my ear, "Don't think you can fool me, bitch." His spittle was hot and bile rose in my throat at the heat of his body touching mine. When we reached the top of the stairs, he hoisted me up over his shoulder and I screamed, and kicked, and battered him with my fists. I fought tooth and nail, until my nails were torn off in the fabric of his clothes, until my voice was hoarse and my strength was nonexistent. My fingers throbbed as I cried quietly against his broad, sweaty back. "Found this one hiding upstairs," he said to his three companions—two dark-skinned women with long, frizzy braids and a blonde man —and the women glanced at me. Lying between the three of them were Monty and Hoyt, Monty's crippled, awkwardly-shaped legs sprawled out into the middle of the room, blood dripping down his face, Hoyt mumbling to himself as he hugged a brown label less bottle to his chest.

I heard a sharp cry and spun around, only to be knocked backwards by the blonde guy, who waved his knife around like a maniac who'd never hurt anyone in his life; his beanpole arms said that much. "Oh, please be gentle!" That was _Luda Mae's _voice! I leapt to my feet, scowling as the two braid-haired women shuffled into my path, blocking me; I spotted the dark-haired guy who'd grabbed me dragging what I figured to be Luda Mae. "Luda!" I called out, standing on my tip toes to see above the women's broad shoulders, and lunged, wiggling through the gap of their legs. One of them grabbed the back of my shirt, and I was stuck running in place for a split second before the fabric gave way, and I was home free, stumbling across the room.

Luda Mae had a massive bulge on her forehead, bruised, and her eyes had a glassy look in them, her red glasses askew. "What did you do—" I squawked, standing up quickly, to face the dark-haired man but he lifted his fist too fast for me to realize it, and slammed it hard, right into my face. There was a blinding whiteness, then shock, and then vibrating pain as something hot gushed down my lips, down my chin. "Shit, man," one of the girls, wearing a tiny shirt and shredded shorts, laughed. "Adrian, are you okay?" Luda Mae swam above me, her face a discombobulated mess of the blues and greens of her bruised forehead. My head spun as she helped me sit up, holding my shoulders; I waited until the room quit being a merry-go-round to tell the guy who'd punched me and hurt sweet, old Luda Mae _exactly _how I felt.

"You're a sad, pathetic, weakling piece of shit, buddy," I hissed at him, although the threat of the words was a bit off because I had yet to catch my breath and stop the blood rushing in my mouth, plus I was missing a few teeth now so I had a bit of a lisp. He'd been talking to the other guy and now turned to me, slowly, his face a deep, dark red-purple, like a little kid's finger when they stick it in a small toy and nearly lose the circulation. Luda Mae tried to hush me, but I shrugged her off with a sad, probably bloody smile, and continued, ignoring the angry throbbing at the base of my spine. "I _said _you're a sad, pathetic, weakling piece of shit," I repeated, louder this time, despite my breathlessness and lisp and the blood running down my chin in disgusting, congealed globs.

There was a second of silence and then he lunged at me, and I pushed myself into his stomach, smacking him into the wall. He was hollering, screaming all these profanities at me, as he grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked my head back, jabbing my throat. I gagged and dropped to my knees, struggling to breath as tears welded up inside of my eyes. He drew his arm back and punched me, hard, right in the face once again; is tumbled backwards and fell flat on my back, sputtering. He was looming above me, and I dove for his legs, knocking him off balance; he landed hard on his back. I could barely hear anything above his screeching, swearing at me, insulting me in every degrading way possible, as he pounded my back.

Above all his hollering, the sound of the heavy door I'd visited only once swinging open hummed underneath all the noise, easy to spot for the Hewitt family and myself since we were all very observant. The heavy, steel door creaked open, inch by inch, and then all at once, screeching like a predatory bird. The two flickering, weak light fixtures swung back and forth as a dark, massive shape loped out of the shadows, silent as a ghost.

The man I'd manage to pin down slapped me in the ear, making it ring, and I gasped, taken by surprise. He took the surprise to shove me off of him, but then noticed the tall figure walking towards us, wearing a mask, it seemed, of human skin. Chills ran down my spine as the masked stranger took in the situation.

"Thomas," Luda Mae breathed, as he sauntered forward, dragging the bloody, rusty chainsaw in his wake.


	16. Chapter 16

Baby Scars and Chainsaw Men

Sixteen

Hey, Allie-The Bunny The Bear

The entire room was painfully silent, and I could hear Monty panting, the women shifting their weight from foot to foot.

"Who's this ever-loving ugly fuck?" the dark-haired man yelled loudly, kicking Monty out of his way without a second thought, and rage boiled under my skin, turning my blood into a simmering soup. "Who do you think you are? Oh, so scary! Look at me!" He swung the knife toward Thomas, but backtracked before it could make contact, laughing like a braying horse.

"Tommy," Luda Mae whispered in her frail voice, too quiet for the laughing man to hear her, but loud enough for the two women.

The taller of the two, with three scars running down one side of her grisly face, turned to Luda Mae and grabbed her by the lapels of her blouse. In a low voice, she hissed, "What did you say, hag?" as she shook Lud Mae. When Luda Mae didn't answer, pretending to be dazed, the woman snorted in disgust and shoved Luda Mae away.

In the blink of an eye, Thomas lunged, moving faster than I'd ever seen him, and he swung the handle of his saw into the dark-haired man's face. A spray of blood splattered across his blonde companion's face. Once he turned back to face Thomas, his face was red with anger and his expression twisted with rage.

"You sick fuck! I'm gonna mess you—" He started forward, his knife raised, but Thomas revved his saw's engine and bashed in his face with the flat of his blade. The women shared a look before they both went at Thomas, who batted them into opposite walls.

"Get 'em boy! Woo-hee!" Hoyt bellowed suddenly, his eyes wild and glassy as blood ran down his forehead.

Thomas hunched his shoulders and glanced around, taking in Monty lying there, me kneeling there with blood running down my face, and then, finally, Luda, who was panting heavily and blotting at the sweat on her face with the edge of her apron. The sight of his mother, injured, seemed to enrage Thomas, and with a low roar that rivaled a dangerous animal, he fell upon the dark-haired man slumped against a chair. With the force of a bear, he threw punch after punch into the man's face, ignoring his scrabbling shoes scratching up the floor, his low screams turning to gurgles as he choked on his blood. A stream of red dribbled out of the corner of his mouth, pooling on the floor beneath his ear.

Eventually, he stopped struggling, his gurgles tapering off into low moans as his eyes rolled back into his skull, slumping.

Panting heavily, Thomas scrambled to his feet and lumbered to the slumped women, each of whom he grabbed by the braids and I watched in horror as he swung their heads together full-force. The crack of their skulls connecting was as loud as thunder, jarring me down to the bones. The one with the scars screamed, and he smashed them together again and again, ignoring the blood leaking all over his massive hands, splattering the walls. Once they fell silent, he dropped them and stepped over the bodies as though they were nothing more than garbage in his way.

My stomach rolled painfully as one of the women twitched, still clinging to the last threads of life, and Thomas twisted halfway towards her and brought his foot down as though he were crushing a bug. The crunch made me cringe, scrabbling backwards, as a scream built up in my throat, sour and hot like bile.

Luda Mae's arms, clammy and quivering violently, wrapped around my waist, pulling me between her legs, rocking me back and forth like a fussy child.

I could hear the short gasps being sucked in passed my lips, each one shallower than the last, and I cupped my hands over my ears, struggling to breath. A wave of panic and disgust rose up inside of me, and took away what little breath in my throat; I choked and gasped, struggling for breath again and again. Every little bit of air that managed to slide down my esophagus rattled and wheezed around in my lungs, in my throat.

"Adrian, calm down," Luda Mae begged softly in my ear as Thomas dropped his chainsaw, falling to his knees. Once he was at my height, he tilted his head down, meeting my eyes; I'd always mistaken his eyes, so dark, for the color of Hershey chocolate, but now I saw they were blue, so dark in fact that they appeared brown almost, black really. Each of his lashes cast frayed shadows across his cheeks, across the blood spray on his skin.

Something warm settled on either side of my face, cupping my cheeks, and I felt the rough callouses of his palms, the dry cracks in his skin. And then I smelled it, the thick, sour stench of blood on his hands, the rust from his chainsaw's handle. My stomach twisted unpleasantly at the smell, and I shoved myself away, twisting in Luda Mae's arms, fighting to keep my stomach contents from making a reappearance.

"Oh my God," I gasped once I caught my breath, hysterical now as I crawled away from Luda Mae, towards the kitchen, away from Monty, who was just beginning to regain consciousness, and Hoyt, who was laughing and muttering to himself. "You just _killed _all of them!" My voice broke on the word 'killed' and went high, shrill like a little girl's. My head swam with dizziness as I scrambled for purchase, my nails finding none, only yanking them to the quick.

A firm hand wrapped around my ankle, and pulled me back.

A scream escaped me, louder than Brittany, louder than a whistle, and the hand yanked me even harder, whipping me across the floor so fast I got wax-burn. Twisting and turning frantically, I kicked out my leg and the bottom of my shoe connected with the face of whoever held me; I looked up to see Thomas's mask fly off in a blur, his head turned away.

Dead silence descended, and hung heavy in my ears, ringing. The only noise was my panting and the blood roaring in my ears.

And then he turned back to me slowly, and all I could do was scream even shriller than before, not because he was ugly or because he was deformed, but because his face was streaked with blood—the blood of the people he'd _killed _without even a moment's hesitation.


	17. Update

I'm redoing this story and I'll post it in full once I'm done, so I won't be posting anymore chapters on this one.


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